Hellsing: Inversion
by TwinEnigma
Summary: Post Millennium. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Sir Hellsing is mad, the Nosferatu is up to no good and the fledgling is confused.
1. Order 01 Welcome to the Suck

Hellsing: Inversion

By Twin Enigma

* * *

_Blanket Disclaimer: _I do not own copyrights to Hellsing, though I support it's creator by purchasing the manga and anime. This is not written for profit and is solely intended for fun and the purpose of getting those plotbunnies out of my skull. The plot is mine, any original characters are mine, but in the end I'm just playing in this delightfully FUBAR universe.

* * *

Order 1: Welcome to the Suck

Twenty-four hours ago, the call came in from the London Police Authority to send D-11 into action. The local police of a small town were overwhelmed, their situation desperate. All communication with the officers they'd previously sent to investigate had been swiftly and violently terminated before any real data could be obtained and then London had lost communication with the remaining police. D-11 did not like going into a situation blindly, but there was no choice: it was imperative that they discover exactly what was going on before making the decision to send in any more firepower. Their orders were to determine the number of assailants and the state of the hostages, if there were any.

Two full units were sent in.

Twenty minutes later, frantic calls started coming in from both units, reporting that they were under heavy attack and demanding backup. The audio was filled with screaming, gunfire, swearing and a low noise that could only be described as ghoulish moaning. It was immediately clear to those back at headquarters what the situation was and they followed established procedure, immediately contacting the Hellsing Organization.

Fifteen minutes after primary notification, Hellsing Organization was airborne and en route. Their ground troops were on orders to establish a perimeter and prevent any non-human beings from spreading contamination further. An incident of this size had not occurred since Cheddar, well before the Millennium War, and typically vampire threats were identified far before they became a problem anywhere near this large. This deeply concerned and angered Hellsing's current director, so much so that he decided to personally oversee this operation and send in his top hunter.

"Sir, ten minutes to primary LZ!" the co-pilot shouted over the din of the rotors. "Teams 1 and 2 have already landed! Primary LZ is secure and mobile command is online!"

Director Hellsing gave the man a single nod of acknowledgement and adjusted his glasses. The operation was proceeding smoothly so far. Now, where was his servant? He spoke into his headset: "Have you arrived yet, Nosferatu?"

"My Master is so impatient," the vampire replied teasingly. "It has been so long since I've had a challenge and I want to relish it."

"Nosferatu, you try my patience," Director Hellsing ground out. "Have you arrived yet?"

The vampire chuckled, obviously amused. "I'm nearing the last reported position of the second D-11 unit. I do hope this one puts up more of a fight than the last trash vampire I faced."

"You have your orders," the director said, "Report directly to me when all nonhuman targets are eliminated."

"Understood, Master," the vampire purred.

Director Hellsing grimaced as he tore off the headset and clenched his hands into fists, seething with anger. He had practically felt the vampire leering at him through the earpiece. This sort of insolence from her could not and _would not_ be tolerated. When this operation was over, he would see to it that she received a little time to reflect on her behaviour – preferably in the dungeons, chained to the wall where he'd found her. The thought cooled his rage somewhat and, smirking, the young director turned his attention back the mission at hand.

* * *

A young D-11 officer crashed through the underbrush, scrambling forward in an all-out mad rush of adrenaline. His entire unit was dead and his rifle – well, he'd lost that when he fell a few yards back and hadn't had the time to grab it before those undead monsters started to catch up. All he had left were his sidearm and one, maybe two clips of ammo. Not that it mattered much: bullets didn't seem to stop the cannibalistic zombies. Right now, running was all that stood between him and a horrible death. 

There – a church! Frantically, he picked up the pace and hoped to god that the building had good, solid doors. A distant part of his mind fluttered around in circles, going over every horror movie he'd seen as a teenager, and he dimly wondered if any of the stuff in them had a grain of truth. He thought these were strange thoughts to be thinking when running for his life, but it did take his mind off the stitch in his side from running so hard and the awful groaning of the undead chasing him.

Suddenly, something yanked the ground out from under him and he pitched forward with a startled cry. "Where do you think you're going, bobby?" asked a mocking female voice somewhere behind his head. An icy feminine hand clamped down on his right arm, painfully twisting it behind his back, while a second hand firmly grabbed him by the hair and he was dragged cruelly to his feet.

His captor was a woman, pale and ghostly, her lank black hair hanging in wild tangles. But what his eyes were fixed on was her predatory smile and the wickedly pointed fangs that it revealed. Her breath reeked of rotting flesh and blood and he knew exactly what she was: a monster.

"Aren't you a looker, little bobby? Not like those other nasty old men," she said, her hooded yellow eyes practically undressing him.

He was instantly repulsed and tried to shove her away with his left hand, but her grip was solid and unyielding.

"You've certainly got spunk! It's always more exciting when they struggle," she purred, pressing her cold body against his. Her sickening grin grew wider still as she ran her tongue along the side of his face. "And you're so pretty..."

The officer shuddered in horror at the monster's touch and dropped his free hand to his side, groping for his pistol. His fingers met with empty air.

"Surprised, pet?" she jeered, flashing her sharp teeth again. "I couldn't have you shooting up my nice new dress. Bloodstains are _so_ difficult to get out."

He knew it now: he was going to die here, food for some crazed monster bitch in a tacky dress. Maybe, if he was lucky, those zombies would eat them both before she could kill him.

"What to do? What to do?" the monster giggled insanely and feigned an expression of deep thought. "I could turn you and keep you with me always, but there are hardly any virgins your age. Still, I suppose you'd make a useful ghoul."

As she spoke, her vice-like hand slowly pushed his head to the side, until his neck was bare to her. He winced as something sharp bit into the skin just under his collar and, for the briefest moment, he thought the monster had bit him. But she was still talking to herself, debating whether or not she'd prefer him 'turned' or as a 'still-serviceable ghoul,' and a quick glance confirmed that her teeth were nowhere near his neck.

Realization dawned on him and he instantly knew what was digging into his collarbone. It was something he'd had all his life: a small silver crucifix. The sharp points had a habit of accidentally jabbing him at odd times, but he cherished it all the same. It was the only thing of his mother's he had to remember her by and, right now, he could swear she must have been looking out for him from heaven. She'd left him a weapon of sorts, one with near dagger-like points.

"Well, I suppose there will always be other fish in the sea," the monster concluded. "A snack it is."

Her jaw began to open inhumanly wide and he didn't hesitate. In one swift motion, he tore the crucifix from his neck and stabbed it into the monster's eye. She howled in pain, the wound hissing and spewing forth smoke as though it burned, and instantly released him to claw desperately at the little silver weapon.

The officer stumbled, scooped up his sidearm, and quickly hauled himself forward, scrambling back to his feet. All he could think of was running, staying alive... _surviving._

"BASTARD!" the monster screeched, practically materializing in front of him before he'd even gotten more than a yard away. She grabbed him by his neck with one hand and hauled him into the air as blood poured down her face in rivers from the wound he'd inflicted with the crucifix. "You ruined my eye!"

He struggled, not willing to give up yet, and raised his gun. If he was lucky, maybe he could get her to drop him. "B-bitch!"

A loud, booming retort from a gun cut through the night and the monster's arm practically exploded at the elbow. But, to the shock and horror of the young man, he didn't fall to the ground as he expected to. Instead, the monster's arm hung suspended in the air as her elbow reformed, soon once again whole. She growled, her head snapping in the direction of the shot, and he could not help but try to look at this newcomer.

It was a woman, tall and dusky-skinned, her pale hair seemingly swirling around her like mist, stirred by an eerily absent breeze. "You trash have no manners," the newcomer stated. "Playing with your food and not even bothering to clean up after yourself? How disgusting!"

"You!" the monster snarled, her yellow eyes narrowing in anger. She yanked her captive prey to her chest and spun him so his he could see the approaching newcomer. "I was expecting you, Hellsing bitch. I've been waiting to pay you and your accursed master back for what you did to my clan."

"I found your little ghoul army to be in poor taste," the pale-haired woman replied, raising her gun. "So many other punks have tried that trick in the past and all of them were banished to hell."

The monster growled, tightening her grip on her captive, and then spoke into his ear with a sickening smile. "Do you think she'll save you, bobby? Think again, pet! She's nothing more than a tethered attack dog for the crown, a monster that hunts her own kind!"

The newcomer remained still with her gun raised, and did not bother to defend herself.

"The truth is that she would kill you to get to me, pet," she purred, glaring spitefully at the pale-haired woman. "She's just thinking about how she's going to go about it. See, she knows she can't kill me without going through you, bobby, and she doesn't care."

He looked directly into the newcomer's face, unwilling to believe his captor's words, and was surprised to see her smiling, as though she had just heard something unbelievably amusing.

"Police boy, are you a virgin?" she asked then. "Answer me."

The tone she used boded no argument and, while the question seemed absolutely absurd, he found he was already answering her: "Yes."

His captor, meanwhile, laughed, "You can't be seriously thinking of turning him? You, a collared hound? Can you even _feed_ without your master's consent? Or does your master feed you from his bed like his namesake–"

Her words were cut off by the boom of the newcomer's gun and the next thing that the young man was aware of was falling to the ground in pain. It felt as though a hole had been blasted through his chest and it hurt to breathe. He opened his eyes just in time to see the pale-haired woman leap over him and drag the wounded monster to her knees.

"Filth like you will not speak of my Count in such a manner," she said coldly and plunged her hand through the chest of the yellow-eyed monster. "And you should not have insulted my master."

The monster woman gave a final bloody shriek and crumbled into dust, freeing the small crucifix and sending it tumbling to the ground.

He smiled then: at least he could get that back, even if he was going to bleed to death.

"Police boy, you don't have much time," the pale-haired woman said matter-of-factly as she looked down at him. Her eyes were red, he noted absently, and then she spoke again. "It's your choice. Do you want to live?"

He couldn't speak; his mouth was full of blood and he was drowning slowly. Yet, somehow he forced himself to nod and smile weakly.

The woman closed her red eyes for a moment and gave a soft chuckle. "So this is what it felt like... I think I understand now, my dear Count," she said, raising her head to regard the moon. She knelt then, gently raising him to her breast, and softly sank her teeth into his neck.

He let himself drain away in her embrace, slipping into the cold darkness of eternity with a smile.

* * *

Director Hellsing waited impatiently at the mobile command post situated on the road leading into town. The Nosferatu had not yet returned, nor had she communicated anything to him through the radio, and she hadn't even attempted to use telepathy. Not that he wanted her to, mind you, but he wanted to know where his monster was. She was taking far too long for his liking. Still, she had never failed in a mission yet and he doubted her ego would allow her to start now. 

Finally, the familiar figure of his servant appeared out of the fog and, immediately, the soldiers began mobilizing for clean up operations. The Nosferatu paid the soldiers little mind as they moved out and made her way towards the director as ordered. She had a strange, satisfied smirk on her face as she approached him, an expression that said she'd had at least a little amusement on this mission. He noted she was carrying a bundled up D-11 survivor in her arms; said survivor seemed disoriented and was probably in some form of shock.

"Well done," Director Hellsing said, smiling. "How did it go?"

Her smile widened. "The vampire is dead. There were no survivors."

The director was momentarily thrown off kilter. "What? Then who's he? Isn't he a survivor?"

"No," she grinned, flashing her fangs at her master. "Actually, he's dead."

The 'survivor' managed a weak "I'm sorry," quite pointedly revealing a set of new fangs and the red eyes that marked this particular midian bloodline.

Director Hellsing stiffened, immediately caught somewhere between absolute fury towards his insubordinate servant and complete mortification. This would be an embarrassment for the Hellsing Organization, one they did not need. "WHAT'S THE BIG IDEA, YOU BLOODY FOOL!"

"It couldn't be helped," the vampire replied, coolly.

"I'm sorry! I really am!" added the newly-turned fledgling. He, at least, seemed genuinely contrite.

Director Hellsing growled, spun on his heel, and marched towards his waiting helicopter before he wasted any precious silver bullets on that infuriating Nosferatu. "We're leaving. General Valentin, you have command. _Sir _Integra and her charge will be returning with you."

"Yes, sir," the grizzled officer replied. He glanced back at the two vampires and slowly shook his head. The wily Draculina was testing her master's limits and patience again. This was getting ridiculous... Someone's head was going to roll when they returned to Headquarters, that was certain, and he bet that head would belong to Nosferatu Integra. The question was who would decapitate the vampire first: Sir Hellsing or the family retainer?

"This was a perfect night," the fair-haired vampire said to herself. Her eyes followed the path of her master as his helicopter rose into the air and took off. "Don't you think?"

The former D-11 officer stared at her in a mix of confusion and bewilderment. This had been _far_ from what he'd call a perfect night.

"Welcome to the suck," she chuckled.

Her fledgling didn't find it that funny.

* * *

AN: Blame my newest muses, Chibi Integra-sama and Chibi Alucard, for this one. This is set after the current canon manga (9.2) and is a twist on the character role inversion plot. I won't tip the fledgling's name for a while, but I've already hinted to the latest Sir Hellsing's first name. As for Nosferatu Integra, I'll go into why she behaves like she does later on. Well... Okay, I'll say this now: she's been through a lot of hell and it's made her a bit bitter. Anyway, reviews are good and will be responded to with enthusiasm as finals threaten to drive me insane. 


	2. Order 02 Master of Monsters

Hellsing: Inversion

By Twin Enigma

Order 02: Master of Monsters

'Captain' Seras Victoria phased through the wall of the kitchen with a cheerful smile, accidentally startling one of the new manor staff with her rather sudden appearance. She noted that the poor bloke managed to stumble this time instead of fainting and decided that he was adjusting to his job at a good pace. A few more weeks and he'd be as acclimated to weirdness as the rest of the Organization. Of course, in this line of business, weird was a sort of normalcy unto itself and Hellsing was about as normal as any organization could be in the vampire hunting business.

Seras made her way through the busy kitchen with practiced ease, absently continuing her ruminations on the general status quo as she headed for the shelves were the tea was kept. The Organization staggered the troops on a schedule by company, so that there were always at least two active companies on duty at any given point during the day. And while the majority of Hellsing's troops were either from the RAS or SAS, the vampire hunting business had a habit of making them more than a little quirky. For example, 'Geese' Company enjoyed regaling everyone with their traditional cadence regarding the temperature of female Eskimo genitalia whenever they were in formation – which happened to be about four times a day – and Echo Company would always abseil into any building they could, even while on base.

She frowned, unable to find the Ceylon tea, and leaned down to look in the lower cabinets, thinking one of the chefs had misplaced it. A knife whizzed through the air where her head had been a second earlier and lodged itself firmly in the wall. Seras ignored it, recognizing it for what it was: their sous-chef's berserker personality had been triggered again, probably by a misplaced pan. Yesterday, it had been a soup spoon and the day before, it was a ladle. Fortunately, most of the chefs and staff were former military and special operations personnel from around the world and they had the sous-chef back to her normal, more personable self in short order.

Seras shoved aside a cardboard box of bayonets she'd 'liberated' from Anderson some time back, some chopsticks, and several firearms. Where was that bloody tea? Perhaps it was like that incident with the Gunpowder Tea a few years ago... although, the Nosferatu hoped they really couldn't have hired anyone stupid enough to mistake Ceylon tea for something else. Hmm, Sir Alucard might just have to deal with a nice Camomile instead.

Seras sighed and went back to the overhead cabinet for the Camomile. The current Sir Hellsing was inherently a good person, if not a bit too headstrong and hot-tempered for her liking, and she loved him like a son. However, his bloody idiot of a father had given him her former Master's name, failing to understand that it would inevitably cause problems later on rather than solving them as anticipated. Poor kid, getting saddled with a name that had such a violent legacy... It was no small wonder why the boy had almost completely ceased using his first name in the years since he'd taken power – and having Integra around hadn't helped either.

She drew her lips into a grimace as her thoughts inevitably turned to the other resident vampire of Hellsing, the Nosferatu Integra. Integra was not the same woman she had been all those years ago. She had almost become unrecognizable, a true monster, and Seras could not help but fear for the safety of the young Hellsing. Integra was far too unstable for him to trust in her so readily.

Seras ordered one of the less-busy chefs to put on water for tea and set about preparing the tea service for use. Sir Alucard would be back soon and she had a feeling he'd be in need of some tea. The sous-chef bellowed in rage again and started chasing one of the dishwashers with a metal meat tenderizer. The Nosferatu sighed as she ducked a wild swing and went back to arranging Sir Alucard's favourite biscuits on a small plate. Yes, things certainly had become weirder over the years since she'd joined.

* * *

Director Hellsing had calmed a bit by the time the helicopters had landed back at Headquarters, a weary sort of acceptance having settled over him. His servant had caught him off guard and quite literally tied his hands in regards to her fledgling. What is more, she knew it too, the bloody bint. He rubbed his temple in attempt to ward of the growing headache she'd caused and headed back towards the manor, passing by India Company. They greeted him with a loud chorus of "Sir, good evening, Sir" as they marched past, to which he responded to with a brisk "Carry on." 

A veritable mountain of paperwork was waiting for him at his desk and there would be more now that he had to officially transfer the 'surviving' D-11 officer to Hellsing. Then there was the matter of the Convention of Twelve. The young director had no doubt they'd inform the King as soon as they read the reports from tonight's mission and then the questions about his ability to control the Nosferatu and run the organization would start. He grimaced and entered the manor, a part of him still itching to unload a full clip of blessed silver-alloy bullets into that smirking midian bitch he controlled.

"Welcome back, sir," said the familiar cheerful voice of his loyal retainer, the Nosferatu Seras. She hardly seemed like a midian at all, but he knew better than to be tricked by her maid's uniform and kind, youthful face. Seras had been with Hellsing since before the Millennium War and had long remained their single most reliable and effective trashman. She was semi-retired now, having preferred to stay close to the manor ever since that day, ten years ago...

"How was the mission?" she continued, cutting off his thoughts before he could wander down darker lanes of memory.

The young director scowled by way of an answer.

"I see," Seras said, "Integra, again? What did she do _this_ time?"

He sighed, pushing up his glasses, and replied, "She turned the only surviving D-11 officer into her fledgling – most likely just to spite me."

Seras stiffened as though she'd been struck and then her red eyes narrowed in barely concealed anger.

"Are you all right, Seras?" he asked, a bit confused by her reaction.

The Nosferatu shook her head as though to clear it and plastered a thin smile on her face. "It's nothing, my child. Just some bad memories... Now, you look like you could use a nice cup of tea to take your mind off that horrid old hag."

At that, the director smirked. "Best not let her find out you've been calling her names, Seras. She might take offence."

"Don't josh me," the blonde vampire huffed, waving it off. "Old bat deserves it after all she's done."

He nodded his agreement and, absently, his gaze began to wander towards the stairs. He supposed he should cut this short, as there was still work to be done and his retainer could rant about her former boss for hours. "They will have probably finished with clean-up by now," he paused and gave her a false grin. "And I had better get started on the paperwork."

The Nosferatu chuckled, knowing full well how much he _hated_ the seemingly endless stream of paperwork that flooded his office. "I'll be along with your tea shortly, sir."

Director Hellsing gave her a nod of silent appreciation and started up the stairs, heading for his office.

"Oh, Sir Alucard," Seras piped up, causing him to stop and look back. Her eyes had that strange gleam in them, the edge that showed her true predatory nature. "Don't trouble yourself over Sir Integra. I will see to it that she is dealt with accordingly."

He paused, his hand resting on the banister, and stared at her. A part of him was very tempted to stay and watch, but he supposed it would be better if he was not here when Seras ripped into her target. He closed his eyes then, smirking, and resumed walking up the stairs.

* * *

Shortly after delivering Sir Alucard's tea to his office, Seras returned to the ground floor and issued some additional orders to the manor staff that would keep them well out of the way. The last thing she wanted to do was injure one of the staff, as good help was hard to find and finding good help willing to work in the Hellsing Manor was comparable to looking for a needle in a haystack the size of Pre-Millennium London. In short, it was a pain in the proverbial arse and she just didn't feel like dealing with replacing any pillock stupid enough to get between her and teaching Integra a lesson. That being done, Seras then went back to the entrance hall and patiently waited for the other vampire to return. 

A half hour passed before the vampire heard the familiar sound of the NH90 tactical transport helicopters that Hellsing used landing in the compound. Seras smirked and removed her white gloves, putting them in a hidden pocket in her skirt. She loved the sound of those tough birds, because it meant the company they'd deployed was home, safe and sound. A part of her also loved the sound for what it meant to the soldier – _Pip_, she amended – under heavy fire and waiting for extraction: time to leave, the cavalry has come. Wagner began trumpeting through the back of her mind, accompanied by images of the helicopter assault scene from _Apocalypse Now_, and she quickly shushed their source, reminding her spiritual companion of her current objective.

Seras could sense Integra now, moving steadily closer to the manor doors, and pulled on her black gloves. She took a second to adjust them and then placed her hands behind her back, resisting the urge to grin. There was no reason to alert the ex-Hellsing what she was up to, after all.

Eventually, the doors opened and Integra strolled in with her fledgling in arms. Said fledgling was mostly concealed by the blanket he was wrapped in and appeared to be sound asleep; the only thing immediately visible was the officer's black hair, as his face was turned towards Integra. A part of Seras recoiled in anger at the image, so vividly similar to the memories of her own turning and laden with hidden threat towards the current Hellsing leader that it nearly shook her to the core.

Integra was truly a monster.

"Sir Alucard has informed me that you have sired a fledgling," Seras stated without preamble, glaring icily at the taller vampire. "A room is being prepared for him in the basement, along with a sufficient ration of medical blood."

Integra's lips twitched as though she was about to smirk and then she strode forward, easily crossing the distance between them. "Well, then, _police girl_," she started, twisting the title maliciously like a knife as she deposited her cargo on the floor between them. "I will leave him in your capable hands and prepare my report for my Master."

"You will turn in your report to me," Seras countered smoothly, deciding not to engage in the taller vampire's childish name-calling. "I will see to it that he gets it."

Integra clearly hadn't expected that and narrowed her eyes, a leering manic grin on her lips. "Hiding from me? How childish of him. Doesn't my Master _want_ to yell at me?"

"Sir Alucard doesn't have the time to be bothered with your infantile attempts at baiting him," Seras replied curtly, bringing her hands out from behind her back and deliberately letting the taller vampire see the black, fingerless gloves.

The former Hellsing leader recognized them instantly and immediately took half a step back. "So, police girl, are you going to tie me up here? I didn't realize you were into that sort of thing –"

"Shut up!" the smaller vampire snapped, splaying her fingers to trigger the wires. The merest flick of her wrist and the wires were tightly looped around Integra's neck, biting into her skin. Seras tightened the wires a fraction of an inch, drawing blood, and continued, "Oh, I know what you're up to, Integra, and I won't have any of it."

Integra's eyes widened sharply as Seras pulled the wires taut. Her head spun in place and dropped to the floor, though her body remained standing. Of course, mere decapitation wouldn't kill either of the vampire women – they were both far too powerful for that – but it did hurt like a bastard.

"Consider that a warning," Seras said, glaring down at the severed head of her former employer. "I'll be watching."

Integra scowled and dissolved both her head and body into mist form, quickly vanishing from the room. She was undoubtedly retreating to her room in the dungeons, where she could pull herself together and sulk for a while.

Good riddance, Seras thought nastily and then turned her head to regard the fledgling. He appeared to have slept through the whole thing. She sighed – it was probably for the best anyway – and knelt, easily slinging him over her shoulder. "Come on, then... let's get you to bed, kid."

* * *

Director Hellsing blinked wearily as the ammunition requisition form he was about to sign seemed to get blurrier and blurrier. He could feel himself nodding off even as he struggled to remain awake and finish his work. Clutching his pen tightly and scowling, he attempted to finish signing the form, only to have the text blur together again. He shook it off and then groaned as he saw the scrawling mess he'd made of his signature. 

"Curse it all," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. He was so tired and there was still so much more work to do. Sighing, he tapped the pen against the desk and glared at the offending requisition form. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to close his eyes for a minute and then get back to work. Just for a minute, he assured himself and closed his eyes.

The director's eyes had not been shut for more than a few seconds when he felt what could only be described as a blotch of darkness moving towards him – _Nosferatu!_ Instantly, his eyes shot open and in an instinctive, near fluid movement, he drew his sidearm, bringing it to bear on the door. He narrowed his eyes as it opened and, frowning, lowered the gun. "Seras... You startled me."

"A thousand pardons," she said, smiling a little as she entered his office. "I didn't realize you were asleep, sir."

He glared at her and put the gun back in its holster. "I was _not_ asleep, Seras."

"You, sir, were asleep," the Nosferatu retainer said pointedly. "Come on, off to bed with you. The last thing you need is to wake up with a copy of some munitions form plastered all over your face."

The image brought a slight smile to the young director's face. "Yes, I suppose that would be rather embarrassing, wouldn't it?"

"That it would, sir," Seras replied. "Your father once spent a whole day walking around with a copy of a troop transfer order on his face and no one had the guts to tell him."

He smirked, quickly finishing up the form, and put it in the 'out' box. "Is that so? I don't remember that."

"That was a long time ago, before your father met your mother," Seras noted wistfully, her gaze drifting towards the portrait of his parents. "And back then, most everyone was still in awe of what your father had accomplished."

Nodding absently, the director stood and slowly circled the desk so that he now stood beside her, looking at the portrait. The painted form of a mother he'd never known did not hold his gaze for very long; instead, he looked to the image of his father, who had been killed nearly ten years ago. His father had been a great man – a great leader – and he fiercely wished to do his father's memory justice by being equally as great, but things hadn't been easy since he took command. Integra was nothing short of a borderline sociopath and while the seals forced her obedience, she was constantly testing both their and his limits. The Convention of Twelve didn't fully trust in his ability to control the former knight or the organization and were just waiting for an excuse to remove him from command. In fact, the only reason they hadn't already removed him was that they were deathly afraid of Integra and knew he was the only one who could control her.

His thoughts turned back to Integra's fledgling then and he frowned, wondering if that poor police boy would have lived if he had been a better leader. "Seras, am I as good a leader as my father was?"

"Your father was a good man, Sir Alucard," she answered softly and he felt her presence gently skim the surface of his thoughts before she continued. "But he understood what things were his responsibilities and what things were not. D-11 should not have been sent in and they paid for it, dearly. As for the police boy... he made his decision, the same as I did, and he'll have to live with it."

The director sighed, turning away. "But he isn't _alive_ anymore, Seras."

There was an awkward silence for a moment.

"Well, I suppose I could take him under my wing," the vampire huffed finally, folding her arms over her chest. "Show him the ropes... Maybe teach him how to use the Harkonnen."

"I'd prefer that you teach him how you kept your humanity and encourage him to do the same," the director noted tiredly and opened the door. "It would be worth it just to prove to the Vatican once and for all that you aren't a singular exception to the rule."

Seras shook her head, smiling a little, and chuckled, "I suspect they'll never be satisfied, no matter what I do, sir." She paused, considering something for a moment, and then spoke again: "The police boy will probably need a few days to get settled before we can see about any evaluation work. He should be pretty much up to speed though, if he's D-11."

"And if he won't eat?" the director asked. There was an unspoken meaning to the question, one that he knew Seras would understand: he was the leader of Hellsing and as such, he could not allow a starving fledgling vampire to threaten his staff and soldiers.

The Nosferatu inclined her head, a predatory gleam visible in her eyes. "Oh, I have my ways, sir. He'll eat, whether he likes it or not."

"Thank you, Seras," he said and gave her a tired smile. "How would I survive without you?"

"I suspect you'd find a way. Hellsings always do," the retainer stated matter-of-factly. "Now, you're going to get some sleep. You need it."

Before he could even open his mouth to protest, she had tapped him on the side of the head with one of her shadows and he slumped gracelessly into much-needed sleep.

* * *

Integra was sulking in the darkest corner of her Master's bedroom when she felt Seras approach the room. The steady, familiar heartbeat of her Master accompanied the former police girl's presence, though it was evident from the rhythm that he was deeply asleep. "So, Master's been naughty... staying up past his bedtime again," she murmured to herself. 

_"Lady Integra, it's time for bed," Walter said from the doorway._

Integra shook her head, clamping her hands over her ears as the childish echo of her own voice answered the butler's. It hurt to remember Walter and more so when she remembered how he died – both times. Still, she could not help remembering. The smallest things would remind her and then the memories would surge forward again, threatening to consume her whole. It seemed that was it was her curse to never forget all that she'd lost.

The doorknob squeaked as it turned, jolting her from her thoughts. Integra quickly scooted backwards and vanished into the wall, concealing her presence as much as possible from the shorter vampire. She didn't fancy losing her head a second time in the space of one night, which would be exactly what would happen to her if the former police girl caught her in the Master's room. Seras, it seemed, was much like Walter in that aspect and, idly, Integra wondered how much of the butler the smaller vampire had consumed before letting his soul fly on.

The concealed Nosferatu frowned: obviously, the police girl had devoured quite a lot of the butler, if her knowledge of overseeing the manor and servants was anything to go by. And Walter had always been a wary one, having seen every trick of Alucard's before. But her Count was patient, so she would be patient, too, and she'd get what she wanted in the end.

Seras entered the room, carrying the slumbering Hellsing over her shoulder with the ease of habit and set him down on the bed. She took off his glasses, placing them on the nightstand, and set about the task of putting him into his pyjamas as if he were nothing more than a child... which, to the police girl, he _was_ – her child, in all but flesh and blood.

Integra didn't watch. The idea of Seras as a mother figure was profoundly disturbing somehow. She decided it had to be because the police girl wasn't just Seras, but also Pip and Walter, too. Seras had always been a picky eater, but there was no telling who else she'd eaten over the years and just how she'd integrated them into herself. She shuddered to think what the police girl would be like if Anderson was traipsing around in her head.

The sound of the door closing brought the concealed vampire's attention back to the room. Seras was gone and her Master was sound asleep under the covers, moonlight from the nearby window illuminating his features.

_"Goody, goody,"_ Integra thought with a smirk and, slowly, she emerged from the wall. She loomed over the bed, the moon casting her shadow over the slumbering human. Fitting, she supposed, as her presence would forever shadow the remains of the Hellsing line.

The vampire now moved her shadow, letting it extend phantom-like fingers and trace the lines of her Master's face. He frowned in his sleep, but did not stir; he was firmly in the world of dreams and that was where she preferred him to remain for the time being. He troubled her when he was awake, a very living reminder of how she used to be before the Millennium War, and she hated him for it.

Her Master was a usurper, like his father and grandmother. The Convention of Twelve stole Hellsing away from her - took it, like thieves in the night – and gave it into hands that were never meant to hold it. Then they had her sealed away, leaving her to rot in the very cell where she'd met her dear Count, and all involved sought to forget their shame. The only solace she took from her imprisonment was that her time in the dungeons had given her ample opportunity to plan out her vengeance.

And what a vengeance it would be!

The Nosferatu smiled wickedly and extended her powers further, allowing her to slip into her Master's dreams. She was cautious, though: he could sense her presence and wake if she was not careful. But she knew all the tricks and how to conceal her presence as much as possible – her Count had been a good teacher and she had been an attentive student.

She manifested as shadows in a mirror and briefly assessed her location. It was daylight and she appeared to still be in her Master's bedroom, but now in the past. Her Master was just pulling on his shoes: he was a young teenager, barely older than she had been when she first met her Count, and destined to take the reins of Hellsing through violence like the Hellsings that came before him. He was shorter and somewhat gangly as a teen, with wilder hair that hung at shoulder length and lacking the scowl he'd developed over the years since he released her. In short, he could have been considered a handsome boy, had she not hated him and all he represented.

Integra absently watched her Master rise and open the door, triggering a shift in the dream. They were now in what had once been _her _office, standing before the father of her Master. It was this man, the bastard child of her second cousin, who had sealed her with their ancestor's spells. But she did not wish to be caught and so she hid her rage away before her Master noticed anything amiss.

"Father, where is everyone?" her Master asked. He appeared to be a little confused. "I couldn't find Seras."

"Ah... That is because Captain Seras is on a mission," his father said, smiling slightly. "There were also a few incidents in the city. It's possible our soldiers will clean out more than one nest tonight."

The boy nodded and took a seat before the desk.

Integra raised an eyebrow, smirking. So, her Master was dreaming of the day that he'd met her. How quaint, she mused and absently studied a poorly repaired bullet hole in one of the bookshelves.

The radio, which had previously been silent, came to life: _"Valentin to base. All units in position. Commencing primary insertion."_

The soon-to-be-dead Hellsing turned his attention to the radio and the operation, while his son's attention started to wander towards the window. In the distance, the setting sun spilled bloody rays across the land as if aware that something important was coming to an end. Integra found it appropriate and somewhat poetic, a fitting sign of the end of her Master's childhood.

_"Advanced Fire Team Alpha to Command: target acquired."_

_"Roger, Fire Team. Target status?"_

_"Single Midian, type A. We have a shot. Requesting permission to fire."_

_"Roger. Permission granted, Alpha. All units stand by."_

Her Master stood suddenly, a strange look on his face, and approached the window. "Father..." he began, a strange hitch in his voice. "There's a vampire near the fence."

The older man's face went an alarming shade of white as realization dawned on him. "Base to Valentin! The nests are decoys! Return to base immediately!"

Integra watched the younger version of her Master turn to look at his father; he was frightened, but soon that fright would be replaced by cold determination and anger. It was amazing how transformative the death of a loved one can be, she mused.

After all, look at what the deaths of her father and Walter had done for her. She was much stronger than she had ever been and, if it weren't for the infernal seals, she'd be able to freely use as much power as she desired to in whatever manner she pleased. And there wouldn't be a thing that wretched little usurper could do about it.

The dream abruptly ceased, momentarily disorienting Integra as she was forcibly ejected from her Master's psyche. She hissed, shaking her head to clear it. Then she heard the all-too familiar metallic click of a gun being cocked and opened her eyes, only to stare down the business end of a Beretta held by her very much awake and absolutely livid Master.

"Get out," her Master said in an icy voice and pulled the trigger.

Her only thought as the .45 silver bullet impacted her skull was a nice, concise '_Ouch_.'

* * *

**AN**: Hi, I'm back with Order 2 of Inversion. In case you haven't noticed, this isn't your typical character inversion setup. The troop companies - ten, not including base staff - are modelled off of ones from my college (it's half-military and you wouldn't believe how nutty the cadets are in general). Geese company would actually be Golf company - phonetic alphabet and whatnot-, but they're nicknamed Geese company in honour of the Wild Geese. The whole thing with the special forces kitchen staff is a joke about the Under Seige movies (namely, "You can't beat the chef in the kitchen") and the berserker sous-chef has a part to play down the road. Pip's still hanging out inside Seras and Seras has the killer dental floss of **Doom**! ...Proving once again, you are what (or who) you eat. Blearg. Integra is mostly out of her mind, just to be clear, as she's lost everything that really meant something to her, including the organization. Sir Hellsing's choice of bedside weapon is a Beretta Cougar F, .45 cal. His regular sidearm is either a Heckler & Koch USP or a GLOCK 21C - I haven't decided yet, as I like both. You'll get to see more of the past later on. 

My Hellsing muses, Chibi-Integra-sama and Chibi-Alucard, do so love reviews.


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